


Jailbait

by scarletmanuka



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Blow Jobs, Date Rape Drug/Roofies, Drugged Sherlock, Face-Fucking, First Time, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Protective Mycroft, Sibling Incest, holmescest, not by main character, slight non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-13
Updated: 2018-03-13
Packaged: 2019-03-30 19:48:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13958733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarletmanuka/pseuds/scarletmanuka
Summary: Whilst trying to escape his own party, Mycroft stumbles upon a guest taking advantage of Sherlock.





	Jailbait

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyGlinda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyGlinda/gifts).



> Mycroft is 21, Sherlock is 14, they are brothers. If this isn't your thing, please don't read.  
> As always, your feedback and comments are always, always appreciated :)

The beat of the music thrummed through Mycroft’s body, setting his teeth on edge and giving him a headache. He made his way through the throngs of people, dressed impeccably in designer clothes befitting of their social status, but clashing with their behaviour. People gyrated to the music against the bodies of strangers, couples groped each other in the open, and inebriated revellers laughed brashly at inappropriate jokes. He took a sip of his expensive whiskey, wishing once more that Mummy had heeded his wishes that he didn’t _want_ a big party to celebrate his twenty first birthday. Mycroft didn’t _have_ friends, only social connections, and so the guest list was made up of a who’s who of the upper class, mostly people his own age who had no ambitions beyond mooching off their rich families for the foreseeable future. He was surrounded by people, but Mycroft was alone.

A drunk woman staggered towards him, her skin tight white dress revealing more than would be considered indecent even at a house party at the university. Her eyes lit up and a perfectly painted nail ( _talon_ was the word his brain supplied) reached out to hook around his tie. “Mycroft,” she woman slurred, trying to sound sexy but failing. “Great party,” she continued, “but it would be even better if you and I were to go somewhere a little more private.” She had moved even closer and he could smell the alcohol on her breath beneath the cloying scent of her expensive perfume.

“I’m so sorry, Nadia,” Mycroft replied politely, gently untangling her hand, “but I’m just on my way to meet someone.” He wondered if she were sober would she have remembered that he was gay? It wasn’t spoken about out loud in the circles his family moved in, but Mycroft knew his own preference and had made it clear that he wasn’t an eligible bachelor to be married off to the highest bidder. He couldn’t care less that he had caused a scandal, not one to care what others thought of him, but he had hoped it would deter the single ladies from trying to hit on him. It worked to some extent but there would always be some who saw it as a challenge, thinking that their vaginas held magical powers that would tempt him back to the light side.

“I’m sure I would be much more fun that whoever it is you’re meeting,” she purred, batting her lashes.

“I highly doubt that,” he replied curtly and walked off, ignoring her indignant squark. He huffed out a sigh, wishing that Mummy were actually here so he could yell at her. But no, she had ignored his wishes and had organised the party, and then had gone out for the evening, claiming she didn’t want to get in the way of the young people having fun. He vowed he was going to kill her when he saw her next.

Mycroft made his way through the mansion, running up against walls of noise and music every which way he turned. His head throbbed and he just wanted to find somewhere quiet for a moment. He headed for his father’s study, thinking that the borish room would hold no appeal for the party goers. He pulled open the heavy door and stepped inside, the noise of the party cutting off as it shut, and he breathed a sigh of relief as silence washed over him. Until he heard the low moan coming from the corner. Cursing under his breath, he walked over, planning to chastise the couple for being in an out of bounds area but he stopped dead when he caught sight of who it was.

Brent Harrison who was Mycroft’s age, tall and blonde, well muscled and known for his promiscuity, was kneeling on the couch, bending over a slight figure - a very _familiar_ slight figure. A growl rumbled from his throat and Mycroft stormed over, grabbing a handful of Brent’s shirt and hauling him backwards off the couch, tumbling him to the floor. He yelled out as he was so rudely disturbed and his companion sat up quickly, his eyes wide. “Mycie?” he squeaked.

“Sherlock, what the bloody _fuck_ do you think you’re doing?” Mycroft demanded of his brother, his eyes cataloguing the scene before him. Sherlock (sweet, young Sherlock, only _fourteen_ ) was wearing skin tight black jeans, the button and fly undone, revealing his silk boxers beneath. His white dress shirt was unbuttoned, his pale skin flushed and a dark love bite marred his porcelain chest. His unruly curls were even more mussed than usual and his eyes were so dilated that hardly any of his glorious blue-green irises were visible.

“Feel’s good,” his brother mumbled in reply and Mycroft’s eyes narrowed, immediately suspicious of the lack of sharpness in his tone.

Turning to Brent, who had picked himself up off the floor, Mycroft once again grabbed his shirt. “What did you do to him?” he demanded, his voice cold.

“Back off, Holmes,” Brent said, shoving him backwards and breaking out of his grip. “He’s mine, get your own play thing.”

“Play thing?” he choked. “Do you know how young he is?”

“And? You should know by now that the same rules don’t apply to the likes of us, Holmes. We have money, power, and influence which means we can indulge in a sweet piece of jailbait like this without worrying about the consequences. Now kindly fuck off so I can get on with it.”

“This...this _jailbait_ \- “ he could hardly spit out the word, “ - is my _brother_.”

Instead of looking suitably chastised, Brent just gave him a shark-like grin. “Oh, how delicious - I’ve found myself a boytoy with some pedigree.”

He didn’t even think about what he was doing, he just acted. Mycroft’s fist connected with Brent’s smug face with a sickening crunch. The socialite crumpled to the ground and Mycroft stood over him, his satisfaction at seeing the creep down and out enough to dull the pain that had exploded through his hand. He’d never actually punched anyone before and it hurt much more than he thought it would.

“Mycie?” Sherlock’s small voice sounded once more. He was looking up at his brother with wide eyes, and he looked lost.

“Sherlock.” He crouched down next to the couch and took the boy by his shoulders. “Are you okay?”

“Fuzzy.” The reply was so mumbled it was almost incoherent.

“Did he give you something? Did he make you take a pill?”

Sherlock gave a short shake of his head, his unruly curls bouncing. “Gave me a drink. It burned, but then it felt so good,” he said dreamily.

“I think we need to get you to bed,” Mycroft told him gently, helping him swing his legs around so he was sitting up. “Let’s just get your clothes fixed, okay.” Making sure the silk of the boxers didn’t get caught in the zipper, he did up Sherlock’s jeans and then began to button up the shirt.

“You always take care of me,” Sherlock slurred. “Always so nice to me, Mycie. So good to me.”

Mycroft’s throat tightened at these words, knowing that Sherlock would never say such things if he wasn’t drugged. They got along quite well but they were never sentimental, showing their affection through snarky repartee and affectionate insults. It was... _nice_ , hearing that he was appreciated. “I’ll always be there for you, Sherlock.”

“I know,” his brother mumbled, pitching forward until his head was leaning heavily against Mycroft’s chest. “‘s why I love you so much.”

Telling himself that the stinging in his eyes was from the cigarette smoke from the party and _not_ from tearing up, Mycroft whispered, “I love you too, brother mine.” He let Sherlock rest there for several minutes and then took hold of his bicep. “Come, now, let’s get you to bed so you can sleep this off.”

Sherlock got to his feet but then immediately slumped against Mycroft. “Tired,” he said, his voice a little clearer than before. “Carry me?”

Sherlock sounded so young and fragile that Mycroft couldn’t say no. He nodded and then slid a hand down Sherlock’s body to hook under his knees, picking him up bridal style. He made his way over to the door just as a groan from behind indicated that Brent was coming to but he didn’t look back. Let the bastard take care of himself.

The noise of the party assaulted them as they moved into the corridor, and Mycroft made for the stairs. The wench in white stepped in front of him, blocking his way and Mycroft had to fight the urge to glare at the woman. “Mycroft,” Nadia chided, “is this who you turned me down for? Your kid brother?”

“Sherlock isn’t well,” he said as diplomatically as possible, “so if you’ll excuse me, I must take care of him.”

“But you’ll be back, yes?” she said, one painted nail coming to rest on his sleeve.

The very last thing that Mycroft wanted to do was to return to the party, even if it _was_ his party. “I don’t think so.”

Nadia pouted. “Such a shame, but perhaps we could arrange to meet tomorrow? Somewhere a little more...private?”

From his arms, Sherlock snorted. “How low is your IQ?” he asked. “Mycie is gay, which means he likes cock, which - judging from your horrendously fitted dress - you are sorely lacking. You should stop now before you embarrass yourself any further.”

The woman glared at the boy. “And what would _you_ know?” she sneered.”

“I know my brother, and I know that even if he wasn’t bent, he’d never be interested in someone as dull and moronic as you.”

“How dare you!” she gasped. “Mycroft, you’re not going to just stand there and let him speak to me like that, are you?”

“Certainly not, Nadia,” he replied mildly. Then he turned and walked away.

Sherlock sniggered against his chest and Mycroft couldn’t help but grin. “Like she’d ever be good enough for you,” the boy murmured, before slumping in his arms, his tirade seeming to drain all of his energy.

Mycroft took the stairs easily, his brother weighing hardly anything and so no burden at all, and soon he was nudging open the door to Sherlock’s bedroom. Using his ankle he pulled it closed behind him and then crossed to the bed, bending over and using one hand to pull back the covers. He then gently deposited Sherlock onto the bed, helped him out of his jeans and shirt, and then pulled the covers up to his neck. “How are you feeling?” he asked, placing a hand on his forehead. The fact that his brother now seemed lucid enough to have been able to tear Nadia to shreds seemed to indicate that whatever substance Brent had drugged him with was either fast acting or he’d not given him that much.

Sherlock shrugged. “Weird.”

“Weird how?”

His brother grabbed Mycroft’s arms and used his hold as leverage to pull himself up into a sitting position, the blanket falling down to pool in his lap. “You know how we have to gate off our minds?”

Mycroft nodded. They’d worked for years at different ways to control the never ending stream of data that their minds produced, containing it behind carefully crafted mental walls.

“Well, it’s like those gates have been pulled down and everything is spilling out of me. It’s so chaotic, and loud, and whenever I open my mouth it’s like it’s just giving that a voice and I can’t control it.”

Mycroft nodded. “Whatever Brent drugged you with has shattered those walls, which has lowered your inhibitions. It’ll make you say and do things you normally wouldn’t.”

“I’d have told her that stuff anyway,” Sherlock told him.

Mycroft smiled. “I know you would have since you can never forgo an opportunity to snark at people.”

“I don’t like how that man made me feel,” he said then in a small voice. “It felt good but I knew it was wrong.”

“Oh, Sherlock, I’m so sorry that he tried to take advantage of you. Someone that old should have known better.”

“It’s not that he was older than me,” Sherlock explained, “but because I don’t like him. I would never have done that normally with him - he’s not my type.”

It was odd to think that his brother was now at the age where he had a ‘type’, that he was aware of his sexuality and was starting to act on it. “Even if it was with someone that you liked, it was still wrong. No one should drug you and make you do and say things that you wouldn’t normally do.”

His brother lowered his eyes then peered up at him from under his long lashes and said shyly, “I meant everything I said to you though,” he admitted, “even if it’s something I _wouldn’t_ normally say.”

Warmth blossomed in Mycroft’s chest. “I meant it as well, brother mine.” He reached up and brushed away a lock of hair from his face. “How about you get some rest? The worst seems to be over so hopefully by morning you’ll be back to your old self.”

His brother bit his lower lip, looking hesitant and then blurted, “Stay with me! Please, Mycie, I don’t want to be alone and I know I’m safe with you.”

If he was honest, Mycroft hadn’t really wanted to leave Sherlock alone either. Brent may have gotten the message that he was off limits but what if someone else tried something? The thought of someone sneaking into the room where his vulnerable baby brother slept, unaware of the danger, looking for _jailbait_ , made the older man feel sick. “Of course I’ll stay.”

Sherlock smiled and scooted over on the bed, holding up the blanket in invitation. Mycroft hesitated just a moment before stripping down to his own boxers, knowing it would be silly to get into bed fully dressed. He and Sherlock had shared a bed numerous times over the years and he’d thought nothing of it, but now, with his brother’s pale chest marred with a dark hickey, he was suddenly aware that his brother was no longer a ‘boy’ but had reached puberty and was well on his way to becoming a man. It was a redundant thought considering that they were brothers, so he quickly dismissed it, turned off the lamp and slid into the bed.

Sherlock immediately moved back over until he was plastered against him and Mycroft wriggled an arm under his shoulders so he could hold him close. “Thank you for staying,” his brother whispered in the dark, “and for not teasing me for being silly.”

“You’re not being silly,” Mycroft assured him. “Considering that you were drugged and taken advantage of, it’s simply prudent. Now go to sleep - I’ll not let anyone near you.”

“Thank you, Mycie.” He felt Sherlock’s cold nose press against his throat as he burrowed in closer and then goosebumps broke over over his skin as he added, “Love you. Night.”

Mycroft swallowed hard and then replied quietly, “Goodnight, Sherlock.”

It took a long time for Mycroft to fall asleep.

 

He had no idea of the time when he was woken from a very pleasant dream. Mycroft rarely felt the need to engage in sexual activities, preferring to take care of matters himself when the urge overcame him, but it seemed his subconscious was eager for release. His dreams had been full of dark eyes, warm hands, and a plush mouth wrapped around his cock and it was with reluctance that his eyes fluttered open. Something was urging him to awaken though, and he fought through his mental fog to figure out exactly what.

He suddenly realised that the phantom feeling of suction on his shaft residing from his dream was in fact, corporeal. His whole body jerked and he immediately shoved at the person who was straddling his legs, mouthing at his dick, eliciting a gasp of shock as they tumbled from the bed. As the last traces of sleep vanished, Mycroft’s mind pieced together the situation - Brent, the drugs, Sherlock, putting his brother to bed. Oh Lord, he was in Sherlock’s room and his brother was no longer next to him, which meant ( _f_ _uckfuckfuck_ ) that by manner of elimination, the person he had just pushed off him _was_ his brother. His _fourteen_ year old brother. His fourteen year old _brother_. He’d pushed his fourteen year old brother off the bed because he’d been _sucking Mycroft’s cock._

Fuck!

Mycroft squeezed his eyes shut and then covered them with his hands, hoping fervently that this was all a dream - a horrible, horrible dream - and that he would soon wake up and everything would go back to how it was. Because he surely couldn’t have enjoyed the sensation, and his body wasn’t _really_ hoping that Sherlock would climb back up and keep going, because that would be oh so wrong, and oh so fucking immoral, and oh, don’t forget as fucking illegal as you could fucking get because as well as being his fucking brother, Sherlock was only four-fucking-teen. _FUCK!_

“Mycie?” came Sherlock’s small voice from the floor (and Mycroft cursed his treacherous cock for twitching at the sound of that small voice).

“Sherlock,” Mycroft replied, his voice much more steady that it had any right to be, “care to explain just what you were doing.”

He felt the bed dip as his brother climbed tentatively back up onto it. “I just wanted to make you feel good,” he said in almost a whisper.

“And pray tell, why would this be the first thing you thought of doing to achieve that?”

“I don’t know,” Sherlock replied, and Mycroft could almost _hear_ him shrug. He then added, almost petulantly, “Because I wanted to.”

Mycroft removed his hands from his eyes and sat up, staring in shock at his brother in the dim light. “You _wanted_ to? What do you mean, you _wanted_ to?”

Those perfect, plush lips formed into a perfect, plush pout. “It means exactly that - I wanted to suck you off.”

He groaned, ignoring the way his cock was bobbing about, hoping to gain Sherlock’s attention. “Brent must have given you more of his date rape drug than I thought. I think maybe we need to get you to a hospital to be checked over.”

“I don’t need a doctor,” Sherlock growled. “What I need is to get your cock back in my mouth.”

Pre-come pulsed from the tip of his cock as those filthy words flowed from Sherlock’s mouth and Mycroft tugged the corner of the blanket up to cover himself. “Sherlock, I don’t think you’re thinking right. Do you even recognise me?”

The light coming in the window from the full moon was more than ample to see the eye roll Sherlock gave him. “Of course I bloody recognise you, Mycie - I said your name, didn’t I?”

“Yes, but you were also giving me a blow job and that’s not something normal people do to their brothers!”

“Since when have we been normal?”

“Sherlock! You can’t seriously think that we can do this!”

His brother huffed. “Why not? I want it, the way you were fucking my mouth even in your sleep tells me that _you_ want it, so why can’t we?”

“Besides the fact that we’re blood relatives?”

“Unless I was sucking on a massive clitoris, I’m pretty sure I can’t get you pregnant.”

“That’s besides the point! Anyway, you're not even old enough to consent to this, even if we _weren’t_ related.”

“Bah! I have a higher IQ than almost everyone we’ve ever met, I think I know what I want.”

Mycroft glared at him. “It’s not just about intelligence, Sherlock - emotional maturity comes into it as well.”

“I think I know my own bloody mind,” his brother countered. “I want you, Mycie, and I’m telling you that it’s okay.”

“It’s _not_ okay!” Mycroft almost shouted. He realised how late it was and lowered his voice. “Sherlock, there’s a word for people my age who have sex with people your age. Do you have any idea what happens to paedophiles in jail? I can only imagine that it’s worse when incest is involved. I wouldn’t make it out alive.”

“I think you’re underestimating how clever we are, _brother mine_ ,” Sherlock said bluntly. “We’re not going to get caught.”

“I can’t allow this.”

“But you want it as much as I do.”

“You don’t know that!”

Sherlock smirked. “Oh really? Because throughout this entire conversation you’ve not wilted at all.” He nodded his head in the direction of Mycroft’s painfully hard cock.

“We can’t,” Mycroft repeated but he wasn’t sure now if he was trying to convince Sherlock or himself.

HIs brother noticed him weakening and climbed up onto his lap. It was only now that Mycroft realised that not only had his own boxer shorts been removed, but so had Sherlock’s. As his brother lowered himself until his arse was brushing against Mycroft’s cock, his hands grasped Sherlock’s hips, but instead of holding him up and off him like he’d intended, he instead pulled him even closer. They both groaned as flesh slid against flesh, and Sherlock’s eyes rolled back in pleasure. “I want you so much,” he whispered, biting on his bottom lip.

Mycroft fought the urge to lean in and kiss that lip, instead his eyes dropped to where his hands were gripped tightly to Sherlock’s slender hips. Fuck, he was so young, and so beautiful - he shouldn’t find it so arousing.

But he did. Fuck, but he did.

When Sherlock rolled his hips, Mycroft couldn’t hold back anymore and he pulled him in to do it again. His face dipped (even sitting on his lap, Sherlock wasn’t as tall as him) and soon his lips found their mark. Sherlock gasped at the first touch of lips on his and Mycroft licked along his bottom lip, soothing the place he’d been biting. Then he pushed his tongue forward, darting it inside to deepen the kiss, even as he lifted his arse to press their groins closer together. The kiss was messy and frantic, lacking any finesse or grace, but neither seemed to care. Sherlock eventually pulled back and Mycroft tried to chase after him but the boy just shook his head, a sly smile on his lips as he scooted backwards.

Then he was leaning down and his tongue was licking a wet stripe over the top of Mycroft’s cock and holy fuck, the sound of him slurping at the slit was threatening to make the older man come already. Sherlock cleaned him off and then quickly opened wide, taking in as much of Mycroft’s length as he could. It was obvious that he was inexperienced - Mycroft wouldn’t be at all surprised if this was his first time, but that just seemed to make it even more arousing. Watching his head bob up and down, his ebony curls bouncing off his slim shoulders, his back curving down to a firm, hairless arse, it was just too much for Mycroft and he needed _more_. He grabbed his brother by the hair and jerked him up so he himself could scramble up onto his knees, then he guided the boy back down until he could once more capture Mycroft’s cock in his mouth. The angle was much better this way and he rocked his hips, forcing his cock a little bit further into Sherlock’s mouth. His brother moaned and reached up to grab Mycroft’s hand, but instead of pulling it away, he pushed against it, indicating he wanted Mycroft to go even harder. Not needing anymore permission than that, Mycroft’s hands tightened around the ebony curls and he began fucking harder and harder into the small mouth. Sherlock choked and gagged a little but didn't indicate he wanted Mycroft to stop and so he didn’t. He watched as saliva dripped from his brother’s chin as his mouth stretched as wide as it could around the thick girth, the way his eyes fluttered and tears streamed down his cheeks, the way Sherlock’s hands held on so tight to the sheets. His senses seemed to be overloaded but also simultaneously solely focussed on Sherlock.

Sherlock moaned again after a particularly deep thrust and Mycroft pushed in again, going as deep as he could, feeling the back of Sherlock’s throat constrict around his cock, and then he paused, holding himself there. He knew he was blocking his baby brother’s airway, but all Sherlock did in response was to flick his tongue against the shaft. When he judged that half a minute had passed he pulled back, all the way out, and Sherlock gasped for air, heaving in several deep breaths. He reached up to wipe his dripping chin with the back on one hand and then he immediately lunged forward again, swallowing down his older brother.

Mycroft repeated this several times, feeling himself get closer and closer as he watched as Sherlock’s face turned bright red, tears streaming from those glorious eyes, his lips stretched obscenely as a big cock filled his tiny mouth. The next time he did it, he pushed in even further, causing Sherlock to gag, but he didn't pull out, just held himself there as Sherlock choked on his cock, his throat spasming around the thick intruder. Then one of Sherlock’s hands reached up to stroke along his perineum and it was too much. With a shout he bucked his hips one last time and then he was pulsing thick come down the boy’s throat. He finally pulled back as his orgasm slowed, spurting once more across Sherlock’s tongue as he moved backwards. Sherlock coughed, come spilling down over his chin but he rallied and swallowed the rest, even wiping the dribbles up with his finger and sucking it clean.

Mycroft sat back on his heels, watching as his brother recovered his breath, taking in the glorious sight before him. Sherlock looked so young and innocent, and so thoroughly debauched. His face was still red, and the flush continued down over his neck and chest. His curls were mussed from Mycroft’s grip, his cheeks were tear stained, and his lips were swollen. Surging forward, Mycroft pulled him in for a crushing kiss, tasting himself on those plush lips, his tongue darting forward hungrily for more. As they kissed, he felt Sherlock’s erection pressing against his abdomen, hard and wanting. He pulled back and then pushed his brother back down on the bed. His eyes searched the room and landed on a tube of hand cream that Sherlock used after scrubbing harsh chemicals off his skin. Mycroft reached over to the bedside table upon which it rested and picked it up, squeezing a generous amount into one hand. Then, as Sherlock watched him with heavy lidded curiosity, he reached down and slicked between his thighs, generously coating them with the cream. He wiped the rest off on Sherlock’s tummy and then urged his brother up onto his knees once more. Then he turned around and presented his arse to his brother.

Sherlock took his time, his hands running over the firm globes in front of him, one finger tracing down his crack and pressing lightly against his entrance, then lightly dancing his hands down the outside of his thighs. When he had finished exploring, he took hold of his older brother’s hips and raised himself up, pushing his cock against Mycroft’s firmly closed legs. He slowly slipped inside the slick skin, until his groin was flush against the back of Mycroft’s thighs. “Fuck, you feel so good,” Sherlock said around a moan.

“Just wait, brother mine - I’ll have proper lube next time so you can take me properly.”

“Next time?” Sherlock stuttered, pulling out and then rolling his hips so he fucked into the tight space once more.

“Of course,” Mycroft assured him. “Now that I’ve had you, Sherlock, I’m not letting you go.”

“Thank fuck for that,” the boy whispered.

Mycroft chuckled. “You like the sound of that, do you? I bet you can’t wait to fuck me properly, Sherlock, to be thrusting into my slick hole instead of between my legs, to feel my muscles clamp down around you, to be so intimately connected. Would you like that, brother mine?”

“Oh, God, Mycie, yes, please, I want all of that,” Sherlock gasped, thrusting his hips erratically.

“I’d be so tight around you, so hot, you’d feel completely surrounded. I’d love to feel that lovely cock of yours so deep inside of me, pounding into me, fucking me so deeply.” Sherlock could only make an unintelligible sound in reply so Mycroft continued. “After you explode inside of me, filling me with your come, I’d turn around and shove my cock into your mouth, fucking your face again. You looked so beautiful, Sherlock, with your mouth full of my cock. I’d fuck your mouth until you were covered in come and tears, then I’d lick you clean and then do it all again, I’d fuck you -” He paused as he heard Sherlock cry out, his hips stuttering against his arse and hot fluid pouring between his thighs. Sherlock’s hands gripped him so tightly as he came that Mycroft was sure he’d have bruises tomorrow but he didn’t care.

He waited until Sherlock pulled back, extracting his cock from between Mycroft’s legs, and then he reached for the box of tissues on the table. He cleaned himself up and then turned and wiped Sherlock gently clean as well. Once they were no longer sticky, he placed a gentle kiss to his brother’s temple and laid back down, pulling Sherlock against him, nuzzling his face into his hair. “Are you okay?” he asked, hoping he’d not been too rough with his brother.

“Mycie, that was amazing,” Sherlock assured him. “We will do it again, won’t we? You won’t change your mind?”

It was a valid concern - both knew how fickle human emotions could be and that promises made during such acts were not always genuine. But Mycroft had been completely honest when he’d said there would be a next time. He may not have ever considered this scenario before but now that they’d done it, he couldn’t picture anything else. It would be difficult and if they were caught...well, that was something he couldn’t even contemplate, the consequences would be so bad. They _were_ clever though so between the two of them, he was sure they could keep it a secret. “I promise, Sherlock, this isn’t the end - it’s just the beginning. I’m never letting you go.”

Sherlock snuggled in even closer and closed his eyes. “Good, because neither am I.”

As his brother’s breathing slowed as sleep took him, Mycroft held his small body protectively against him, swearing that he’d never let anyone ever try to take advantage of Sherlock ever again.


End file.
